To All Who May Dwell Here
by SillverMedal
Summary: A sort of Marauders Christmas story. Except now, things are anything but merry.


Disclaimer: None of this is mine, as it all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Just a sad little one-shot about the Christmas after Voldemort's first downfall.

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_He leaned with his head on the window_

_Watching evergreen bend in the snow_

_Remembering Christmas the way it had been_

_So many seasons ago._

He told himself to become nothing but a faint shape in the darkness, and that was what he became that Christmas Eve.

He had lost track of time months ago. The minutes blended with the hours like sand in the black sea.

Nothing existed. Nothing lived. Nothing died. Like a black hole, Azkaban Prison sucked in all light, and cast a dark blanket over the water that surrounded it.

And for the first time in his life, Sirius Black could not escape.

He told himself not to think. Not to be. Not to see. Not to hear.

Not to be himself.

Because the last of the Blacks had made a mistake.

Two months ago.

There was a time, in another life, where he would have transformed, and as a dog he would have tried to mimic a certain werewolf, and howl at the full moon while his best friends broke every rule ever written down.

But not anymore.

It hurt to transform. Hurt to remember.

Someone was talking. Loudly. It made his ears hurt, and he shut his eyes tightly, trying to list as many spells as he could remember.

_Alohamora_-

-_"Open it!"_

"_We can't, it's against-,_

"_Shut it, Moony. Go ahead, Padfoot."_

"_Alright, then. Alohamora!"_

-Sirius let out a moan, biting his bottom lip so hard that it bled.

It was his fault.

He was guilty.

_Guilty._

He had made James and Lily switch to Peter; he had _told them to_!

Someone was talking again.

The silence at first had made him crazy, but now he had grown accustomed to nothing, and found that even the slightest sounds made his hearing ache.

"-Feel a bit bad for some of them, you know. It _is_ Christmas, after all…"

"Don't. They all supported You-Know-Who."

"Yes, I know, but—well—it's the holidays, minister, perhaps you should-,"

"No. They don't deserve it."

"But-,"

"Really, Martimus, you want to give _presents_ to _death eaters_?"

"No, no, of course not. I-,"

"Good, I thought so."

Sirius felt his vision darken as he slumped against a wall.

It was Christmas.

So it had been two months.

Almost three.

He deserved no present. No laughter. No Christmas.

Everything was over. Everyone hated him. And they should.

He hated himself.

Because it was too late for everything.

_This year there's no one to open the gifts_

_No reason for trimming the tree_

_And just as a tear made its way to floor_

_He heard voices outside start to sing._

The tree was standing, but Remus hadn't the heart to decorate it.

Why bother? No one would be coming.

Well, perhaps Dumbledore would stop in, or some of the members of The Order. But after all, wasn't that over, now? Now that Voldemort was gone. Now that-

Now that everyone he cared about was dead.

James and Lily were gone, Harry was Merlin-knows-where, Peter was ashes in the ground, and Sirius…

Sirius was no friend of his.

Witches were caroling outside, but Remus stayed by his fire, staring into the flames and trying to remember last year at this time.

Had it really been that long ago?

_"So, Padfoot, mate, what did you get me?" James grinned, bouncing Harry on his lap and shaking his head so that his hair became even messier._

_"Ah," said Sirius, leaning back on the couch lazily. "I was supposed to bring gifts, then?"_

_"Git." James laughed, spotting Lily and giving Harry to his friend. He leaped up and hurried over to give her a kiss. She smacked him playfully and smiled._

_"Give our son to me, he needs a nap." _

_"All right," James said, a mischievous look in his hazel eyes. He took out his wand and cleared his throat. "_Accio_-,"_

"James!"

_Sirius chuckled and James quickly expressed his joking intentions. _

_Remus suddenly appeared from the kitchen, looking harried. "Lily," He said gravely. "There's something wrong with the chicken…"_

_Sirius burst out laughing. "See? Moony can't cook either! Didja burn it, then?" _

_Remus looked affronted. "I don't see why I can't use magic-,"_

_"-Because then it's not as fun," Lily said, guiding him back to her oven, after taking Harry from Sirius. _

_The sound of laughter, warmth, and happiness glowed as brightly as the star James had bewitched at the top of the tree that night. The first in many that the danger of the dark lord remained far from anyone's mind._

Remus couldn't imagine another holiday where he could bare to smile. Couldn't imagine a world without regret.

The rest of the wizarding people may be celebrating the downfall of fear, but for the one once called Moony, it was far from what he had known to be happiness.

He couldn't even bare to read what his new years resolutions had been last January, let alone face the reality of a new year without anyone.

He was cursed with loneliness.

He once thought that he could escape it, but now he knew the truth.

The bitter, painful truth.

He would always be the one left behind.

_Carolers sang as he opened the door_

_Faces of friends in the crowd_

_And all of the shadows of lonely reminders_

_Driven away by the sound._

Sirius was crying again.

He was curled in a ball in the corner of his cell.

Slowly going mad…

The minister and his assistant walked past the cells, because it was a law that they make sure everyone was alive, and the dementors weren't slacking off.

The young assistant felt pity when he saw what had once been the strikingly handsome Sirius Black, and after a moments hesitation, threw the prisoner his copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

Hours later, no more tears would come to Sirius and with shaking hands he lifted the prophet before his bleary eyes.

Sniffing, he absorbed himself in the articles, recognizing names and feeling his heart clench whenever James or Lily or Harry were mentioned.

On the cover a bright Christmas tree sparkled, and Sirius drew a shaky breath as he traced the star on top with a quivering finger.

_Now the heart that for years had been silent_

_Was suddenly filled with a song_

_As he clung to their hands like a child in the night_

_He found himself singing along_

Remus read the _Prophet_ with the heaviest heart he had ever known, blinking back tears as he read an article about new security at Azkaban.

A bright topping to the tree on the front page made him wish for a light of his own, and he looked at the star with envy and longing.

Why was he being punished?

He had done nothing (_nothing_!) wrong!

He had been a good, loyal friend, all the way to the end!

And all at once, rebellious anger that Moony had never in his life felt so strong cursed through his veins like fire, and he whipped out his wand.

Breathing heavy, he stood before his tree like a soldier before his enemy.

James, Lily, Peter…They wouldn't want him spending his Christmas Eve like this…They wouldn't want him to suffer.

And so he wouldn't. He would make himself get past Halloween night.

And so he pointed his wand at the top branches and cast a blinding golden light that lit up his small house with more than warmth.

And as he lowered it slowly, his eyes fell upon a bright star that twinkled and glistened with memories never forgotten, and with futures yet to be known.

It was time to move on.

_Merry Christmas to all who may dwell here_

_Merry Christmas if even just one_

_May the joy of the season surround you_

_Merry Christmas with love._

Sirius lowered the paper, tears glistening in his gray eyes.

He would live, if not for himself, then for Remus, for Lily, for James, for Harry…

He owed it to them.

And standing on shaking feet, he closed his eyes and blew out his cold breath.

And feeling hope run through him in all its blissful warmth, Sirius Black became Padfoot once more.

_Merry Christmas to all who may dwell here_

_Merry Christmas if even just one_

_May the joy of the season surround you_

_Merry Christmas with love._

Remus felt himself growing weaker and weaker as he stumbled into the woods. He'd be a monster in a few minutes, but tomorrow morning he would be human again.

He _would_ be human again.

And as he took shape, he took note of the moon; shining full and bright against the blackest sky he had ever seen.

But his despair had been pushed back with the promise of a sunrise, and of a small boy with his father's hair and mother's eyes that he would someday meet.

The Christmas passed like any other. Time always does.

The world could end in fire, or in ice, or in trust, and the sun would still rise the next morning; the stars would still twinkle that night.

But as the moon smiled down on the new world, two eyes stared at the same sky. Two friends remembered the same things from miles away.

And all at once, two howls rose up and echoed in the cold winter air in perfect harmony.


End file.
